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Tomorrow
Finale 2011 by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag. Teaser “The River is flowing, flowing, flowing. The River is flowing back to the sea… He won’t stop crying. “…We need to go.” --- The village lay stark and silent in the valley, the peaceful streets now littered with bodies and the wreckage of shattered homes, lit eerily by the silver-blue light of the full moon. In the center of the town stood a cairn stone, tall and ominous, carved centuries ago by the hand of some ancient stonefather, whose cryptic symbols had their meaning lost on those few souls who still lived in the village of Waypoint. In the quiet little town square, a handful of villagers, the two families left living, threw their scattered belongings into a carriage, an infant in the front seat crying aloud. “shh, little one, hush! We’re almost gone.” The woman who spoke wrapped a blanket around the child, not her own. The babe’s true parents lay on the ground a few yards away, never to speak again. “What’s that?” “Bandits?” “No… No, something else…” Mist swirled in strange bursts, issuing from some unseen place, originating from the edge of the woodline and spreading across the field. Cloaked figures burst from the otherworldly vapor, walking urgently, followed by travelers, carrying satchels and cases and holding the hands of small children and... In a burst of mist, a tall, stately looking man appeared before the carriage. The woman lurched back in surprise, nearly falling due to her injured leg. “I apologize for startling you in this dark time. I have brought these travelers here with me seeking refuge...” The woman took a step in front of the babe in the carriage. “We can offer you no refuge, conjurer. Can you not see the bodies of our friends on the ground? This town has been ransacked like all the rest. We are making to leave at once…” “And where would you go?” “Rook’s Crossing, or Cedar Hall.” “They are both fallen. Every village for a day’s journey has fallen. Look.” The tall man in the grey cloak turned to face the forest. In the distance, the woods lay illuminated by the moon… but the woods to the east lay dark… and growing darker. And to the west, moving from the top of the hill, came the rush of sparks, and the glow of torches. “By the Gods!” “Had we more time, I would explain myself better, but if we are to save ourselves, we need to begin now.” “Begin what?” The man removed his cloak, hung it across the back of the carriage, and turned to two wizards that appeared at his side. “Hakim, Azorio, see to the leylines. I’ll start the invocation.” The tall man strode to the cairn stone in the center of town. “Just who are you!?” Shouted the woman. The man stopped and turned. “I am called the Archivist. If you remain with me here, in your village, I promise that no harm will come to you. Do you give me leave to try and save these people?” The woman looked at the man, and saw in his eyes the warm and comforting glow of a deeply sane person preparing to do something quite mad. “I am Moira Hawke, the last councilwoman of the village of Waypoint. And I give you leave to use our cairn stone.” --- “What’s the boy’s name?” Moira Hawke, still holding the strange child, looked up from her seat on the ground. A broad-shouldered woman wearing a leather apron with soot caked on her face and hands spoke to her. “… I don’t know. I found him by the cairn stone, but I couldn’t tell where he came from.” “Poor thing.” The traveler slumped down next to Moira. “I’m Susannah.” “Moira.” The two women nodded to each other. Before long, the aristocratic wizard, the one the Archivist had called Azorio, reappeared. “The leylines have been rearranged.” With a swish of his cloak, Azorio prepared to march off. “Are we supposed to know what that means?” Susannah called. Azorio’s back went rigid. “I don’t think it takes a genius to figure it out. The ritual will soon be done.” “Nice cloak.” In spite of it all, Moira snickered. Susannah turned to her, “That guy’s such a jerk. He’s been rude to me ever since he first found me back in Dahlsullr.” “Who are these Wizards? Firespeakers, Covenant?” “Neither. I think they work for that Archivist.” “And all these travelers… Why did they bring them? What are all of you?” “Can’t speak for the others, but I’m a blacksmith.” “Why have these wizards brought you here.” “… Horseshoes?” --- Through the darkened woods they came, first by the handful, then rushing and in droves. At the back of the horde, a figure clad in black, who seemed neither to breathe or blink, stood and watched the town. A knight composed of warped glass, with a crystal broadsword approached the figure and knelt, and spoke in a voice of crystalline shrieks. “They… are there… in the town. The thieves.” The figure in black watched as its minions swept through the woods. “Send the masks. Pull the words from their minds, and we will find where they have taken it.” The figure in black walked after the glass paladin, and as it walked, the leaves shriveled on the trees and the bark peeled back revealing scabrous blood. The figure walked past an old wooden sign that read “The Village of Waypoint.” And as the figure passed, the words on the sign were covered as if by shadow, and were gone. --- Scores of torches rushed towards the tiny village in the valley, hundreds of soldiers racing headlong towards the town, which now seemed to crackle with unseen lightning, shimmers of mist cascading over the leylines leading to the cairn stone. In the back, two captains rode horses down the hillside. One, a fierce looking woman, with x-shaped scars over her hollow eye-sockets and a longbow at her side turned to her commander. “Why has he come here? Why hasn’t he sent us word? The mission was a success, wasn’t it?” The commander, a young warrior with a tower shield on his back, turned to her, and then back to the town. He considered her question, and could not answer. “Keep riding. The Nameless have spotted them as well.” --- The noises in the woods grew louder. Frightened travelers moved towards the cairn stone, but were stopped before getting too close. Kneeling before the stone was the Archivist. The wizard Hakim approached Moira and Susannah. He was a tall, handsome man, from the Black Sands, but he tied his hair in strange fashions, and wore dark ink around his eyes. “Ladies, the time has come. Mistress… Moira?” “That’s my name.” “I am Hakim Sidara, of the blood of old Sematolia. May I help you to the stone? Your leg is…” “I’m fine, I just…” “Here,” said Susannah getting up, “I’ll take the child.” Moira paused, then handed the babe to Susannah. She took Hakim’s hand, and he lifted her up. She looked at him, and he smiled. “Sedayin, we will take care of you.” Hakim began to lead them away. Susannah looked at the babe. “Hello little one.” The babe looked silently up at her, calm for the first time. Moira marveled at this. “He likes you.” Susannah smiled sadly. “He looks just like my son.” Moira looked at the older woman, heartbroken. “His parents are both dead.” “I figured.” Susannah rested the child against her shoulder in one arm. “We’re lollygagging. Let’s move.” --- The full moon hung in the sky, and the mist now wrapped and clung to the leylines crossing away from the stone. The Archivist knelt, and whispered word after word in a long dead language, and it seemed as though each word danced forth from his mouth, and a glyph of the stone would for a moment catch the light of the moon overhead. There came the sound of a distant fence being broken. The villagers’ heads turned. Across the town square, at the edge of the farmyard, shapes moved from the darkness, and the grass wilted. An older woman spoke. “Master Archivist, it is now or never.” “I need one more minute.” “Master, we don’t have…” “What we don’t have is time to argue!” shouted the Archivist. By the faces of his followers, this was likely the first time he had ever raised his voice. The shapes moved in the field, and though far away, they held aloft swords. They had seen the villagers, who began to look more and more panicked. Suddenly, rushing from the brook at town’s end, a horde of torches exploded from the woodline. “Firespeakers!” cried one tiny child. “We’re surrounded!” “There…” said the Archivist. “It’s done.” A drum at the very heart of the world was struck, and the sigils of the cairn stone glowed with silver light. At the edge of the town, both the rushing soldiers, and the men of darkness slowed, their headlong rush halted as though time itself had become thick and viscous. Another drumbeat that each traveler felt in their heart of hearts. Susannah clutched the little boy to her chest, and reached out a hand to Moira. Moira in turn reached out to hold Hakim’s hand. Another drumbeat. The sigils grew brighter, and light coursed out from the stone in pulsating beams, cascading over the town like some ancient spirit awakening from deep slumber. The travelers marveled. A beam of light fell upon one of the ruined buildings, and a sign which read “The Hawke’s Eye Tavern & Waypoint Inn.” Susannah looked, and as light began to pour into her and the other travelers, and danced at the edge of town, she squeezed Moira’s hand. “Was that your family’s tavern?” “It was.” “I can help you rebuild that.” It was then that tears began streaming from Moira’s eyes. “I would love that. This place was such a pretty town.” In a flash of ethereal lightning, and with a stroke of magic so profound that none still can remember how long they stood suspended in that light, the village of Waypoint was saved. Overview Flow What Really Happened Cast Category:Games